


Not Easy

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem never expected to stumble across another 'Vint in the Inquisition, much less one that was so handsome. But things are never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I keep trying to think of something to say aside from "dysphoria sucks" but that's basically all I've got.

Krem liked the Inquisitor. Hard not to - the woman had that same natural leadership as Bull, the same views on meritocracy. She gathered her companions the same as the Chief had, plucking people like fruit out of trees, recognizing talent in the strangest packages. 

Still it was kind of a shock when she rode back into Haven with a Tevinter mage in tow. And not some Laetus, either: even at a hundred paces Krem could see he was an Altus. Bit young to be a Magister, but anything was possible.

The man was chatting with Trevelyan, smiling easy, ignoring all the suspicious looks as he sauntered along the path. Bull was right behind him. No surprise there. What was surprising was when the man looked over his shoulder and said something, grinning sardonically. And the Chief laughed and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. Whoever he was, he wasn’t afraid of a one-eyed Qunari, so he had that going for him.

As they got closer, Krem got a better look. The guy was insultingly handsome. His robes were fucking gorgeous, of  _ course _ they were; it would’ve taken Krem’s da weeks to put something like that together. When he glanced over, Krem started to sweat, cold and clammy, and a vague anxiety began to itch just under his skin. 

“Krem!” Bull called out, waving him over. 

Shit. Dutifully, Krem trotted up. “Chief. Inquisitor.” He saluted.

Trevelyan started to speak. “Krem, this is -”

“Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous,” the man interrupted. He bowed and proffered his hand, with that same sarcastic smirk. Krem almost thought he was being made the butt of a joke - no Altus bows so low to a Soporati - but then Dorian continued. “Scion of, and enormous disappointment to, House Pavus, hell raiser, and ne’er do well.”

Krem blinked. “Uh, Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi, at your service,” he mumbled. Fuck, he might as well have had marbles in his mouth. Didn’t help that the guy was even more fucking attractive up close, with a faint scent of spice that Krem hadn’t smelled in years.

Dorian raised one eyebrow. “Oh? I’ll have to keep that in mind.” His eye twitched in a shadow of a wink.

Something familiar was uncoiling in Krem’s stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He frowned without meaning to, and Dorian's smile dimmed. “Well, you’ll have to get in line,” Krem blurted. “Behind these two.” He nodded at Bull and Trevelyan, wondering distantly if his paltry attempt at humor would be understood. 

Trevelyan was saying something about finding Dorian some quarters, and the mage was led away. Krem sighed. 

Bull stayed behind, watching them go. “Damn, that's a fine ass,” he noted, giving an appreciative grunt. 

Usually this was where Krem would chastise Bull for being horny all the time. It was expected, one of their touchstone jokes. Krem would say something mildly judgemental, both of them knowing he didn’t mean it, and Bull would defend himself, usually in the form of a pun. 

But his mouth was dry, and his throat was stuck on something. “Yeah,” Krem croaked. “I guess it is.”

Krem braced himself for the backlash. For Bull to laugh, make a joke at his expense. Instead Bull looked at him, for a long time. He said nothing, just put his hand on Krem’s shoulder. And that was a thousand times worse.

One of the great things about joining the Chargers was that there was no judgement. Bull fucked everything that wasn’t nailed down, and no one cared. Skinner and Dalish were together, occasionally inviting a lass or two back to their bed, and no one cared. Rocky was utterly uninterested in anything remotely sexual, and no one cared. Stitches and Grim flirted with women, but after a few weeks on the road, they would share a tent, and no one cared.

It was a relief, and a big one. Because no one ever pressured Krem to reciprocate when some barmaid or other sidled up to him with shining eyes. No one said anything when, after turning down a dozen, he’d follow one into the back, or upstairs, or the stable, desperate for contact. And they certainly never said anything when he would skulk back a half hour later, maybe more, face flushed and feeling hollow.

Not that he didn’t like women -- he did. Maybe not quite as much as he liked men, but he wasn’t picky. He couldn’t be picky. And women were safer. They were grateful that he knew what he was doing with his hands and that he didn’t push for more. Men were risky, quick to anger if they were surprised by what they found in his pants. He’d learned that the hard way.

So he stuck to women, and even then it was a rare indulgence. But it was fine. It wasn’t his top choice, but it wasn’t nothing. They moved around so much that it didn’t matter much. There were more important things in life.

Problem was, now he wasn’t moving around. He was in one place, and there was a fucking Altus flirting with him. A damn hot one, no less, who smelled like home and everything he always wanted and couldn’t have.

It soon became apparent, however, that Dorian flirted with everyone. Krem noted with dismay the first time he witnessed Dorian talk to Commander Cullen on the practice field. Even at a distance his body language made it clear what was happening, and when Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, blushing, there was no question.

Bull, of course, caught him looking. “He doesn’t bite, you know.” He paused. “Well, he might if you asked.”

“What?” Krem looked over in confusion. 

“Pavus. He’s friendly, I’m just saying.” Bull offered this tidbit diffidently.

“Yeah, I see that.” It came out wrong, twisted by bitterness. Krem chewed the inside of his cheek, not sure how to fix it. After a second he stopped trying. Bull didn’t press him on it, so he mumbled something about needing to see the blacksmith and made himself scarce.

Problem was, Haven was pretty fucking small. And Skyhold was smaller. Days weren’t so bad, but the nights were long. And there was little to do after the sun went down except gather at the Herald’s Rest. 

The Chargers hung together, mostly. And the Inquisitor and her crew did as well. But in an inn that small, it was inevitable that some bleed through would occur. 

It was late. Past midnight. Everyone was at least a little drunk. Krem was up at the bar, waiting for his next round. Dorian knocked into his shoulder as he clambered up. “Well hello,” he laughed. “Don’t suppose there’s any Aggregio to be had, is there?” 

Krem snorted. “Not likely.”

“Ha! Imagine that. I never thought I’d be stuck in a place that doesn’t have a decent cellar.” Dorian shook his head. 

“Mm,” Krem said, wishing desperately that he could think of a better response. 

“So, tell me. How horrifying was it when Bull lost his eye?” Dorian knocked his shoulder into Krem again, this time with purpose.

Krem tensed up, flinching at his own reaction.  _ Calm down, you ass.  _ “What do you think?” He tried for a laugh. “Raging Qunari takes down half a dozen soldiers, eyeball goes bouncing across the room, and he just claps a hand over the socket and helps me up with the other.” The second laugh was easier, helped along by the memory.

Dorian smiled at him -- not a sarcastic smirk, or a blinding grin, but a heartfelt half-smile, his eyes far away. “That sounds moderately terrifying.”

“Didn’t piss myself, but it was close,” Krem admitted.

The half-smile bloomed into something full and rich. Krem’s stomach flopped over, and he felt a trickle of cold sweat at the small of his back.

“And now you’re here in the ass end of ... is this even Ferelden?” Dorian looked up at the ceiling.

“Who the fuck knows?” Krem snorted. “Anyway, stranger for you, I think. To be here, I mean.”

“It’s not what I expected, to be sure,” Dorian admitted, his smile fading. He regarded the wood of the bar, scraping it with one lacquered thumbnail. Corff sat tankards in front of them both. Dorian picked his up and held it in a toast. “Well. We’re not alone, anyway, that's something, even without decent wine. Here’s to the only two sane ‘Vints in the south.”

“That what we are?” Krem laughed, clunking his mug against Dorian's. 

“Absolutely.” Dorian's eyes sparkled as he looked at Krem over the rim of his tankard.

The combination of raw desire and despair that flooded through Krem was the worst he’d felt in a long time. He drank to cover the moment.

By the time they’d set their tankards down, Krem could see the hesitation in Dorian's expression. That just made it worse, knowing he was making the mage uncomfortable. “Well. Best get back.” Krem tilted his head back toward the Chargers. 

“Of course,” Dorian said smoothly.

Krem fled. Not back to Bull and the Chargers, but past them, up the stairs, through Bull’s empty room and out. 

The night air was bracing. A couple deep breaths, and Krem was feeling better. That is, until the scrape of a heavy boot sounded behind him.

“You alright?” Bull asked. “Saw you run out.”

“Just... ate a bad nug or something.” Krem stared out at the dark horizon.

“It was fennec tonight,” Bull pointed out. 

Krem sighed in annoyance. 

The silence expanded for a minute or so. “You wanna talk about it?” Bull said finally.

With a snort, Krem shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” Bull acknowledged. “But you might wanna talk to him.”

Krem scrunched his eyes closed, fingers digging into the stone of the battlements. “I’m good,” he gritted. 

He felt, rather than saw, Bull shrug. “Up to you,” he rumbled. 

A huge hand squeezed Krem’s shoulder, and a moment later he was alone again. 

Krem did his best to avoid Dorian after that. Unfortunately, his best wasn’t very good. Suddenly the Inquisitor wanted him to help Dorian translate a mountain of Venatori correspondence. Couldn’t say no to that, so it was two weeks shoulder to shoulder in the library, poring over slavers’ journals. 

It should’ve taken the shine off, getting to know him a little better, Krem thought. Except it got worse, somehow. For all that Dorian was an enormous snob with the others, he let that facade drop after a few days with Krem, confessing his fondness for Ferelden ale and chilly mornings. After that it was reminiscing - places in Tevinter they’d both seen, the flavors and scents and sounds they missed the most. And then they talked about Bull, Krem telling old stories, Dorian telling new ones, till they were both gasping for breath between the jags of laughter. Without anyone enforcing the rigid Tevene social structure on them, it was easy to talk, though Krem never missed a chance to poke fun at Dorian's vocabulary.

They took to sparring in the early evening, each armed with a quarterstaff. Krem knew he was on thin ice; it felt far too good to tumble with Dorian's weight atop him, or to take the mage down and pin him. The glint in Dorian's eye was surely good-natured competitiveness, not attraction. 

Spending time with Dorian started to ache more than it felt good. It got harder to put on an easy smile, harder to look away when Dorian would laugh at the Herald’s Rest, his face alight with happiness. Much, much harder to sleep at night, going over the day’s interaction in detail, each smile and joke, until the hopelessness of it all made Krem sick to his stomach.

“Krem,” Bull rumbled one morning, after knocking him prone with a move so basic a child could’ve blocked it. “You gotta say something.”

Krem shook his head to clear it and staggered to his feet. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Chief.” He glanced up; Dorian was at his window in the library, looking down. He waved and moved out of Krem’s view.

“You’re a rotten liar,” Bull growled.

“C’mon, Chief, gimme a break.” Krem readied himself for another charge. Dorian was leaving in the morning, heading to the Hissing Wastes. He’d be gone a month or more, easily. It would sort itself out.

Krem hid when the party left Skyhold, taking refuge in the Templar’s barracks. He didn’t know if Dorian would try to say farewell. Or if he wouldn’t, which would be worse. So he avoided it altogether. It hurt, the first day, and the next, and a bunch more, but it got easier. Just a silly crush. Easy come, easy go.

So Krem didn’t bother hiding the night that the Inquisitor and her party came back to Skyhold. He was over it. Krem perched on the back of his chair, feet on the seat, twisted around to talk to Bull behind him. He felt someone push something up against his chest, at the same moment Bull grinned mischievously. 

Krem turned. It was Dorian, grinning, pressing a bottle of wine on him. “Look what I found!” 

Krem blinked. “What?” 

Dorian's smile flagged. He held up the bottle and brandished it. “Proper wine. Our friends the Venatori had quite a stash. I thought you might like a taste of home.” He had a pair of goblets in his other hand.

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, that’d be great.” Krem’s tongue didn’t seem to be working so well. 

Dorian poured him a glass. “Aggregio Pavali, coming up.”

Krem could feel Bull’s gaze on them, but he didn’t turn to look. Instead he tinked his cup against Dorian's and took a sip. 

The flavor of the wine was overwhelming. Dry and tannic, it transported him back to his home, to the taverns he’d frequented as a young soldier, before he’d been found out, when he was drunk on freedom as much as the wine. 

Dorian was giving him that look again, his grey eyes glinting. Suddenly it was too much. 

“Need some air, sorry,” Krem mumbled, stumbling off the chair and up the steps. Once again he raced up to the battlements, like he had months ago. He doubled over, hands on his knees.

The sound of the door behind him creaking open wasn’t especially surprising. He rubbed the heel of his hand along his jaw, feeling how sparse the stubble was, dismayed by the softness of his skin, no matter how much of Stitches’ tonic he drank. Krem didn’t turn, frustration making his voice raw. “Chief, I know you mean well, but I’m not gonna talk to him, okay? I’m not what he wants. I’m not. I never will be, so let’s just fucking leave it.” It hadn’t been this bad in a long time. The feeling that his body was betraying him twisted like a knife. He wanted to scream and cry and vomit, all at the same time.

“Are you sure?”

It wasn’t Bull’s voice. It was a voice like velvet, tinged with a Tevene accent.

“Fuck,” Krem whispered. Everything stopped, panic quenching all the other negative emotions.

Dorian came to stand next to him. The bottle was still in his hand. He took a pull, looking out over the mountains. Wordlessly, he handed it to Krem.

Krem took a drink. It was still dry, still tannic. “Needs to breathe,” he said, handing it back.

“Naturally,” Dorian said. 

Another pause. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to make you forget what I said,” Krem mused. The moment felt surreal.

“Under different circumstances I’d make a joke about blood magic,” Dorian said. He took a drink and handed the bottle back.

Krem laughed once. “Yeah.” 

“Anyway I’m fairly certain I have a handle on who I do or don’t want,” Dorian said. 

That made Krem turn. Unfortunately he was bringing the bottle up to his mouth and ended up clunking it on his front teeth. “Ow,” he said.

“First day with the new mouth?” Dorian smirked, obviously biting back a grin.

Krem rubbed a thumb over his lip, examining it for blood. “Apparently so.” 

Dorian reached up, his forefinger poised over Krem’s lips.

Krem was frozen. This couldn’t possibly be happening. But he felt Dorian trace his bottom lip, his touch gentle. His eyes were tracking the motion of his hand, but then they flicked up to look at Krem. “I know what I like, Krem. And I like handsome and brave men. You’re a Charger, so you must be very brave, and as for being handsome, well. That's more than evident.”

Objections fluttered through Krem. “But -”

“But what? Are you questioning my judgement?” Dorian asked, one eyebrow arched in amused defiance.

“Your taste, maybe.” Krem swallowed hard. “Plenty of guys here that are more of both.”

Dorian took the wine bottle from his hands and carefully set it down on the wall. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to agree to disagree on that.” He closed the space between them, until Krem’s back was against the battlements. 

Maker, he smelled so good. Krem was trembling, an uncontrollable shake deep in his belly. Dorian leaned forward, brushing his lips against the corner of Krem’s mouth. “Just a kiss,” he breathed.

With a gasp, Krem melted into it. There was a moment of clumsiness, bad angles and clacking teeth, but then it was lips and breath and tongue. 

Krem moaned, and then it became frantic. Dorian pressed against him, his thigh between Krem’s, one hand in Krem’s hair and the other at the small of his back. Dorian sucked his way to Krem’s earlobe as they rocked against each other. Krem ground himself against Dorian's thigh, feeling the man’s erection sliding against his own hip.

Fuck, it felt good. Krem wanted nothing more than to keep going, chase the release which loomed close, and damn the night watch. But then Dorian's hand slid up his ribcage, and Krem hissed. He grabbed Dorian's wrist. “Stop, no. I don’t - I can’t.”

Dorian stopped at once. He didn’t step away, but moved back enough to create an inch or so of space between them. “Krem. If you don’t want this, that's one thing. But if you’re stopping because you think I don’t, let me assure you, that's not the case.”

Lust was still coursing through Krem’s blood, except now it was curdling with despair. “I can’t give you what you want.” It was supposed to be a statement, not a plea.

Dorian's expression folded into a frown -- faint, but it was there. “My desires are not predicated on your fear.” He waited a beat, then his face softened. “Nor are they reduced by any minor divergence between our physiology.”

That snapped Krem back to reality a bit. Fuck, he hadn’t thought about it from the other side. Rumor had it that Dorian's father had pulled some pretty disgusting shit. Krem didn’t know the details, but he knew what it was like to have someone tell you what you could and couldn’t want, what you could and couldn’t be. 

He relaxed his grip on Dorian's wrist, but didn’t let go. He was still shaking, his stomach beginning to ache with it. “Divergence in physiology? That altus-speak or something?” Krem’s voice wasn’t as steady as he’d like, and it could’ve chosen a better time to break, but he managed a half-smile.

The vestiges of frown crumbled, and Dorian smirked. “Don’t tell me you expected any less?”

“Long as you don’t expect me to start conjugating ancient Tevene or some shit,” Krem said. The quaking in his belly was making it hard to breathe. He let go of Dorian's wrist.

Dorian smiled and slid his hand sideways. He froze, obviously feeling the trembling. Krem flushed, screwing his eyes shut.

“Maker, I’m sorry,” Dorian sighed. “I’ll leave you be.” He moved half a foot back. 

“No,” Krem spluttered. “Fuck.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he could see stars. He dropped his hands and forced himself to look at Dorian. “I’m the one that's sorry. I want -- this is just....” He took a shaky breath. “Not easy. For me.” He bit back the rest of the words that wanted to spill:  _ I’m too much work, I’m not worth your time, I’m not worth you. _

“I’m not looking for easy,” Dorian said. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve tried that, and I find it spectacularly unfulfilling.” He put his hand on Krem’s shoulder; it felt almost hot, even through the fabric. “I... consider you my friend. I’d like it to be more. But I’m not in any hurry.” He paused. "Well, maybe a  _ little  _ bit of a hurry. The end of the world and all that, you know.” When Krem laughed, Dorian smiled in relief. “We can talk about this some other time.”

“Or,” Krem croaked. He cleared his throat and grabbed the bottle of wine. “Or we could take this somewhere and drink it in peace. Getting kind of sick of listening to Maryden anyhow.”

Dorian looked at him and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, probably trying to gauge his intent. “Oh? You don’t like listening to songs about Sera over and over and over?”

“Not hardly,” Krem admitted. They struck out along the battlements towards Dorian's quarters.

“I am getting rather fond of the one about Enchanters,” Dorian admitted after a few steps.

“You would,” Krem said, jostling his shoulder. “You change it to Magisters when you sing it in the bath?”

“Don’t be silly. In the bath I sing the one about the Templars.” Dorian sniffed. 

They reached the door that would take them back inside. “Hey,” Krem said, his hand on the latch. “Forgot to say. Welcome home.”

Dorian tilted his head. “Glad to be here.”

 


End file.
